


From Paris With Love

by PrettyCalypso



Series: The Chronicles of Ian & Kira [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Daddy Ian, Daddy Mickey, Explicit Sexual Content, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyCalypso/pseuds/PrettyCalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt: "Ian and Mickey are together from years. In the day of their anniversary, Mickey acts as if he had forgotten their day. Ian, sad and hurt, complains with his family. When he gets home, Mickey has prepared a romantic dinner with candles. He has bought a leather jacket (the one that Ian wanted it). In a pocket there is a ring (because he asks Ian to marry him) and in another there is an envelope with two tickets for a honeymoon to Paris."</p><p>(As usual, I did not stick to it entirely.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Let's go back in time for this fic somebody prompted me a thousand years ago! Kira and Yev are around 9 years old, and this anon asked for Mickey's proposal, and Ian and Mick's honeymoon in Paris. I didn't stick to the prompt exactly, but I hope it's still good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 1st chapter of this fic takes place before “She is my daughter”.

 

Ian barely had time to close the door of his car that his daughter was already up the stairs and opening the door of the house.

 

“Kira! You could at least knock!”

 

But the girl didn't answer, she was probably already upstairs playing with her little cousin.

 

“It's okay.” Fiona smiled as she appeared in the door frame when Ian finally reached the front of the house.

 

His older sister had disheveled hair – with what looked like a tiny plastic spoon stuck in it, along with various pieces of food – a stained shirt, and a crying baby on her hips. She looked exhausted and overwhelmed. Ian kissed her cheek on the only square of clean skin he could find, and frowned at her.

 

“You're sure you're okay to take care of Kira tonight?” he asked, concerned. “I could always drive back to Svetlana's and leave her there.”

 

“It's fine.” the woman nodded, her smile looking weaker. “Jenny has been excited all week at the idea of her cousin staying over, I can't take that away from her.”

 

“Okay.” the redhead sighed, stepping further into the house and closing the door behind himself.

 

He dropped Kira's overnight bag on the couch, and looked around. The house was a mess. Gus was touring for a few weeks, leaving Fiona alone with a 5-year-old girl and a baby who, apparently, just started eating solid food. Ian could have felt really bad about leaving Kira on top of that, but he was actually really fucking nervous about tonight. And it obviously showed if Fiona's next few words were any indication.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah, sure. Just nervous.”

 

“Why?” Fiona asked, looking like she actually cared about the answer, but still awkwardly leaning toward the ground to pick the squeaky toy her son had just dropped.

 

“Here, let me.”

 

Ian reached over and grabbed Wesley in his own arms, allowing Fiona to take the fallen object and breathe a little. She sighed deeply and ran a hand through her messy hair, picking up the spoon as her fingers stumbled upon it, looking surprised to find it here.

 

“I'm going to propose tonight.” Ian confessed, his voice low, sitting down on the couch, and looking intensely at his nephew's colorful socks to avoid his sister's stare.

 

“You are? That's great Ian!” Fiona exclaimed sincerely, sitting next to her brother. “You don't have to be nervous, it's gonna be fine. You and Mickey are so amazing together!”

 

“Yeah but...”

 

Ian hesitated over his next few words, taking a slow breath, and finally looking up to meet Fiona's gentle eyes.

 

“What if he says no?”

 

“He won't.” Fiona assured him without missing a beat. “He loves you so much. And you've been together for two years already, don't worry about it!”

 

“Did you hesitate when Gus proposed to you?”

 

“Well, it's different, we had met three days before, and had spent all this time on a bender of sex and booze.”

 

“I meant the second time.” Ian smirked.

 

“Oh.” Fiona nodded, reminiscing. “Then yes, I hesitated. But, again, it was a different situation than you and Mickey. Our first year of marriage hadn't gone that great.”

 

“That's because you spent most of it fucking around with random guys.”

 

“Why am I on trial here?”

 

“Sorry.” Ian laughed, starting to rock his nephew slowly as he heard him beginning to cry again.

 

“He's tired, I need to put him to bed.” Fiona stated, taking her son back and standing up.

 

Ian did as well, and followed her to the bottom of the stairs.

 

“I'm gotta go anyway.” he announced. “Can you call Kira so I can say goodbye?”

 

“Sure. And good luck for tonight!” Fiona shouted as she climbed the stairs to the second floor of the house.

 

********

 

The table was set, the food was cooked, the candles were lit, and Ian was wearing the outfit he knew Mickey found sexy. Everything was ready, but Mickey was nowhere to be seen. The redhead had called Svetlana to check if, maybe, Mickey had came by her place to wish Yevgeny good night, but the answer was no. The man should have been home almost an hour ago, and Ian was starting to be really angry – and really worried. He jumped in his seat as his phone lit up with a text message. But he sighed when he saw who it was from.

 

_[From Fiona] How is it going?_

 

He picked up his phone and typed a few words.

 

_[From Ian] Mickey's not here. Have you heard from him?_

 

The answer came only a second later.

 

_[From Fiona] No, sorry._

 

Ian sighed again, and leaned back on his chair. He looked at the giant bucket of pop-corn sitting on the coffee table in front of the TV, next to three rented DVDs. And not any DVDs, the three exact ones Mickey had rented when he had come by Ian's house for their first impromptu official date. The redhead ran a hand through his hair. With his luck, Mickey had totally forgotten their anniversary and was working late without realizing his boyfriend had managed to get rid of the kids for the night and was patiently waiting for him at home. Another thirteen minutes passed and, finally, Ian heard the distinct sound of keys in the front door. He jumped to his feet and met Mickey in the entrance.

 

“Where the fuck have you been?”

 

“Wow, aggressive much?”

 

Mickey shook his head and hung his coat next to the door.

 

“I went to get your present but there was too many fucking people at the store!” he explained, his voice angry, and he shoved the package he had been holding and which Ian hadn't seen yet in the redhead's chest. “Here.”

 

Ian's anger dropped, suddenly completely gone, and he looked at the package sheepishly.

 

“I'm sorry, I was really worried. And I thought you had forgotten.”

 

“It's okay.” Mickey smiled, finally meeting Ian's eyes for the first time that night. “I was pissed too, I fucking hate people.”

 

The redhead grinned and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend tenderly, still holding the package against his heart. Mickey reciprocated the kiss, deepening it, a hand on Ian's cheek, running his tongue over Ian's lips until the redhead opened them. Ian broke the kiss pretty quickly, still nervous about his big plan for the night.

 

“The food is probably cold, I better go warm it up.”

 

Mickey nodded and followed him into the kitchen, where Ian dropped the package near his empty plate. The redhead lit the cooking plates under the pans and pots and went back to meet Mickey near the table.

 

“I got you a gift too.” he said, handing Mickey a smaller package. “Open it.”

 

The brunet obeyed, tearing the paper carefully apart, and taking a neatly folded dress shirt out of it.

 

“Two years is cotton.” Ian explained. “I thought it'd go well with your eyes.”

 

“I love it.” Mickey smiled, pecking Ian's lips. “Here, open mine.”

 

Ian nodded and opened the gift less carefully. It was the leather jacket he had spotted in this hype store downtown a few months ago but was too expensive for his budget.

 

“Oh Mick, you remembered.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Mickey shrugged sheepishly. “You talk a lot, but I listen sometimes.”

 

“Only sometimes?” Ian teased.

 

“Most of the time?”

 

“Okay, good enough.”

 

Ian smiled brightly and took a step closer.

 

“I love you Mickey.”

 

“I love you too Ian.”

 

They kissed again, but this time Mickey was the one to pull away.

 

“There's something in the inside pocket.” he said, pointing at the jacket Ian was still holding.

 

The redhead dived his hand in it, meeting Mickey's worried stare from the corner of his eyes, and felt his fingers close around a small square box. _Shit._ The meaning was obvious and Ian's heart started to beat faster than he thought was possible. The only thing he could think about was not that Mickey was about to steal his proposal he had took months to plan, but rather that he, contrary to Mickey, hadn't bought a ring. He had thought Mickey wouldn't like a proposal with a ring, that it was too cliché, and maybe even not manly enough. Ian took a shaky breath and retrieved the small object. He shot an awkward smile at Mickey, who was stuck in his spot, looking absolutely terrified. The redhead opened the box, and released his breath. It was empty. At this point, his emotions were on a real roller-coaster and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel anymore.

 

“It's empty.” he stated, because, really, it was the only thing he could say.

 

“Yeah.” Mickey breathed. “I thought about buying a ring, but it was just too weird. So I thought we could choose matching rings together for the... actual day.”

 

“The actual day?” Ian repeated, finding it in himself to smirk because the situation felt suddenly lighter.

 

“Yeah.” Mickey said again. “I... I just wanted to ask... if... I thought that... I... You... Maybe...”

 

“Mick.” Ian said gently, setting the box on the table and taking Mickey's hands in his. “Do you want to marry me?”

 

“Fuck yes.” Mickey exhaled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop: the honeymoon! And smut, smut, smut people!


	2. The honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took SO much time writing this. I wanted to write amazing smut, and I'm not very good at it, so it was a good exercise. Hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> (FYI: when Ian tries to speak French I did my best to transcribe his American accent in writing, so the mistakes in the language are on purpose)

 

“This is crazy.” Ian said when they got off the plane. “This is crazy.” Ian repeated when their taxi slalomed in the busy streets. “This is crazy.” Ian said again when they checked in at the hotel. “This is crazy.” Ian breathed when he looked through the window at the night wrapping in its coat the vibrant city.

 

“What's crazy is that your siblings earn enough money that they can offer us this trip.” Mickey stated as he opened his suitcase, taking a few items out of it.

 

Ian turned to him, his eyes shining with excitement, looking like a little kid in a candy store.

 

“Do you wanna go explore the city?”

 

“Nah, not tonight.” Mickey replied, shaking his head and taking a step toward the redhead. “I kinda wanna explore my husband...”

 

They both smiled at the word. _Husband._ They could say that now. They were married. _They were fucking married._ Mickey put his hands on Ian's waist, bringing their hips closer together, and Ian ran his fingers along Mickey's arms.

 

“We should take a shower first. I feel sweaty and gross from the trip.”

 

“Oh, we _should_ take a shower.”

 

Mickey raised his eyebrows in what Ian recognized as 'the sexy move', and the redhead smiled, taking his husband's hand and leading him to the bathroom. The room was small but bright, with a large mirror, and a spacious Italian shower with a transparent glass door; and it was still a bigger bathroom than what they had back home.

 

“I think I'm gonna like that...” Ian whispered, already admiring the possibilities the room offered.

 

Mickey nodded in agreement. The two men exchanged one last look, and they were undressing each other quickly, practiced at it, Mickey's hands pulling off Ian's shirt, and Ian unbuttoning Mickey's jeans. The black-haired man turned the water on, waiting only a few seconds for it to be warm before stepping under it, Ian standing behind him immediately, wrapping his arms around his husband's waist. The redhead pressed a kiss to Mickey's shoulder blade, and rubbed his fingers on his hipbones. Mickey pushed back into him, turning his head just enough so that he could look over his shoulder and meet the beautiful green eyes. They looked at each other for a moment. They didn't need to say or do anything, they just knew. They knew how much they loved each other. They knew this, between them, was forever. And for two boys growing up in South Side it felt incredible some days that they had managed to find this peace, this love, this stable life they had. And it felt incredible that they were married, that they had two perfect, healthy kids, and that they had both took the plane for the first time of their life to spend their honeymoon in fucking Paris of all places because Ian's siblings had decided it was the perfect wedding present and had put their money together to make it real.

 

Mickey captured Ian's lips in a searing kiss, tangling his fingers in the red hair that started to become a little too long for his taste, and pushing his pelvis back against the hardening cock brushing against his ass.

 

“Need to get inside you.” Ian breathed against his husband's lips.

 

“What are you waiting for then?” Mickey replied, his voice low and expecting.

 

Ian brought his right hand lower and wrapped it around Mickey's cock, stroking it to full hardness. Mickey moaned in the space between them, grinding his ass harder on Ian's dick. And suddenly, Ian stopped his movements and took a step backward, grabbing Mickey's wrists and turning him around to pin him against the wall. Mickey gasped, feeling the cold ceramic of the shower tiles hitting his back, his breath leaving him for an instant as Ian's fingers curled possessively around his wrists, and the redhead's mouth made its way down his neck. Ian found a particularly sensitive spot on Mickey's skin, and sucked it there until he left a mark. Once he was satisfied, he raised his head back up, and their lips met again. Touching softly at first, their kiss slowly became more playful, and then it was just tongue dancing with tongue, hot and demanding. Ian had released Mickey's wrists at some point, and his hands were now on the brunet's ass, circling the rim with his index. The water had smoothed their skin, but it wasn't as good as using lube, so Ian moved carefully when he slid his finger in Mickey's ass. The brunet shuddered, and clawed at his husband's shoulder, keeping their lips sealed together. The redhead didn't push his index in too far, probing lightly at the entrance, stretching Mickey out slowly. But Mickey didn't want to be patient, so he thrust back on Ian's finger, silently asking for more. And the redhead obeyed, adding a second finger and scissoring the two digits. Their kiss broke when Ian added the third finger, and Mickey moaned shamelessly, turning Ian on even more.

 

“Come on.” Mickey breathed, kissing the corner of Ian's jawline and pushing back against his fingers.

 

The redhead didn't need to be asked twice, he took his fingers out, and grabbed the bar of soap on the little metal holder, ripping the paper apart and throwing it somewhere on the wet floor. He awkwardly started to slick his hand up, and stroke his dick a couple of times.

 

“The fuck you're doing?” Mickey asked, looking with raised eyebrows at his husband's actions.

 

“Don't wanna hurt you.” Ian admitted, grabbing Mickey's hips and turning him back against the wall, before lining up his hard cock with his ass and slowly pushing in.

 

“Fuck.” Mickey moaned, trying to catch his breath.

 

He put his hands flat on the wall, and pushed back, meeting Ian's first thrust. The redhead felt his eyes roll in the back of his head, and he pushed all the way inside Mickey, making both of them grunt in pleasure. They started to move together, Mickey meeting every one of Ian's thrusts. Their rhythm stayed slow, but Ian pounded harder until he could find Mickey's prostate, making the black-haired man shout profanities as a signal that Ian hit the right spot. The redhead accelerated his movements, keeping on hitting this exact same point inside Mickey, and Mickey pressed his back against Ian's front, taking one hand off the wall to run it though the wet red hair. Ian dropped his head, and his breath quickened, feathering Mickey's cheek. The redhead continued to penetrate his husband, pleasure building in both their bodies, the two men reduced to mere whimpers and moans. Mickey arched his back, holding tight on Ian's hair when the redhead reached around to wrap his hand around the brunet's hard, neglected cock.

 

“Shit!” Mickey yelled out, and, with a violent jolt, came long and hard, coating the gray ceramic tiles of the shower.

 

Ian pounded into him again, once, twice, and then stopped, moaning low in his husband's ear, calling his name. Mickey answered back with a kiss, turning his head to meet Ian's parted lips, swallowing the rest of his moan as he felt Ian's warm release inside of him.

 

The water was almost cold by now, cooling their skin as they came down from their high, breathing in each other's air, taking the time to enjoy this moment. At some point, Ian grabbed the soap again and actually washed them this time, running his fingers slowly against Mickey, until they were both clean.

 

“Good?” he asked against Mickey's neck.

 

The brunet nodded, and Ian turned the water off. He opened the glass door and grabbed the two towels sitting above the sink. They wrapped themselves in the dry fabric and returned to their bedroom. The redhead pecked his husband's lips softly.

 

“Can I eat you out?” he whispered.

 

Mickey whimpered.

 

“God, fuck yes.”

 

********

 

Mickey grabbed his husband's hand, earning a bright smile from the redhead, and kept walking down the street. They had spent the last couple of days exploring the city, visiting the most touristic spots, taking a romantic picture under the Eiffel Tower, observing the Mona Lisa in the Louvre – “just a tiny fucking painting of an uninteresting woman surrounded by a shit ton of Chinese tourists with selfie sticks” were Mickey's words – walking under the Arc de Triomphe, admiring the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and wandering in the most beautiful parks and gardens the city held. And tonight they had reserved a table in a restaurant on a boat - a _Bateau Mouche_ – moving up and down the Seine.

 

The sun was already setting above the buildings as they stopped on the docks. As usual, Ian handled all the talking, his phone in hand, the Google Translate app always open so he could try to throw a little French in there.

 

“Bonsoir.” he said with a smile at the hostess. “We have a... réservationne for uh... deuxe people.”

 

The woman was apparently very professional and did her best to hide her smile as she showed them to their table.

 

“Merci.” Ian nodded as he sat down, and Mickey shook his head.

 

“Would you stop? I'm pretty sure they understand English.”

 

“Yeah, but I wanna try to speak the language of the country.”

 

“Whatever.” the black-haired man sighed as he grabbed his menu.

 

He looked through it quickly. _Fuck._ It was all in fucking French. _Velouté de courgettes_ _rafraîchi_ _, crevettes et caillé de brebis._ _Quasi de veau, laitue braisée, jus à peine crémé. Gratin tiède de fruits rouges et pignons._ Was that even real food? Maybe Ian's app would be useful after all...

 

“Do you know what any of those are?” he whispered to his husband. “I don't wanna end up with fucking snails...”

 

Ian smirked and typed some of the items on his phone.

 

“This.” he pointed to the _Quasi de veau, laitue braisée, jus à peine crémé._ “Is veal I think. We should be okay with that. And this.” he pointed to the _Dos de saumon mariné, légumes et jus de grecque à la coriandre._ “Is salmon, so I guess it's also a safe choice. And at the end it's the desserts, I don't think French people put snails in their desserts.”

 

“We never know.” Mickey said, raising his hands and eyebrows. “These people are pretty weird, with their kisses and their sweet popcorn. Seriously, what the fuck is that?”

 

Ian laughed, thinking back about the night before when they had bought a bucket of popcorn to eat in front of a movie in their hotel room, and had found out with the first taste that the snack was sweet and sugary.

 

The boat went under a bridge, and a waiter came to take their orders. Mickey followed Ian's advice and they both asked for the veal, pointing at the item on the menu after the redhead had tried to say it out loud three times and the waiter couldn't understand him. The man came back a few minutes later, while the boat was sliding slowly along the St-Louis island, and Mickey was not disappointed as a real piece of meat laid in his plate. Not snails, fuck yes. They ate in relative silence, enjoying their meal and observing the darkening city. Ian managed to convince Mickey there wouldn't be snails in his dessert, and the black-haired man ordered the _Gratin tiède de fruits rouges et pignons_ – some sort of crust pie with different types of berries and pine nuts – while the redhead chose the _Vacherin pêche blanche - pêche de vigne_ – a different sort of pie with peaches and heavy cream.

 

They walked back home, hand in hand again, taking the little streets to avoid the busy Avenue des Champs-Élysées, enjoying the fresh Parisian night. They had one more day and one more night left before they had to break their little romantic bubble and return to Chicago and their daily life.

 

“We should move here.” Ian said dreamily as they walked in front of more and more beautiful Haussmann buildings and their gorgeous 19th century architecture.

 

“Fuck no.” Mickey replied. “It's a nice city and all, but I'm happy in Chicago, thank you very much.”

 

“You're no fun.” Ian stated, faking a pout.

 

“I'm plenty fun.” Mickey smirked. “Wait until the hotel room, and I'll show you how fun I am.”

 

********

 

The bed wasn't made, but the sheets felt clean and warm against Mickey's skin as Ian guided him onto it face down, his legs bent under him, and his head resting on his arms. His ass was pushed out behind him, opening to Ian's touch as the redhead gently pulled his cheeks apart with one hand, and pressed little kisses between them. Ian's hot tongue circled Mickey's hole softly a few times, before pressing hard against him, nudging, trying to get inside. Mickey relaxed under the heat, hearing the soft, wet sound behind him of Ian jerking himself off with his free hand, his hips pushing against the bed. He pressed harder into Mickey, and suddenly he removed his face from between Mickey's cheeks, sliding his left hand in place to take over, and reaching the bedside table with his right hand, grabbing the bottle of lube they had left there. He flicked the cap open with his teeth and withdrew his hand in order to squirt some of the liquid onto his fingers. He moved them back to Mickey's entrance and slipped a first digit in, the second one rapidly following. Mickey moaned, and Ian breathed deeper. The redhead scissored his fingers, Mickey pushing back against him.

 

“Get in me.” the brunet grunted. “Get the fuck in me.”

 

Ian didn't hesitated as he coated his hard dick, and removed his fingers to replace them immediately, swiftly pushing inside Mickey. He paused, letting them both the time to adjust. And he started to rock slowly into his husband, grabbing Mickey's hips for leverage, trying not to loose their fragile kneeling position.

 

“Oh fuck. Just like that.” Mickey moaned on one of Ian's hardest thrust.

 

The redhead was pounding against his prostate thoroughly, and his dick was so hard underneath him, but he didn't want to reach for it, not just yet. He bit on his lower lip as his stomach tightened, trying to stave off his impending climax. Ian was making such dirty sounds behind him. And suddenly, somebody screamed and something crashed on the floor. Ian stopped his movements, and fell gracelessly onto his husband, causing Mickey's knees to collapse underneath them. The redhead tried to grab a sheet to cover them both, and the black-haired man turned his head to meet the cleaning lady's scared eyes. The poor woman – probably in her late 50s – took her bottle of cleaning product from the floor, and started to push her cart back toward the door.

 

“Je suis désolée.” she stuttered, avoiding to look at the two naked men on the bed. “Vraiment désolée. Je... je repasserai.”

 

And with that she was gone, slamming the door behind herself. Mickey felt Ian's body shake against his back, and soon enough the redhead was laughing loudly, bringing his husband along in a several minutes long giggle fit.

 

“Oh my god...” Ian said after he finally managed to catch his breath. “Poor woman. I think we scarred her for life...”

 

“Fuck yeah.” Mickey agreed. “You think she's gonna come back?”

 

“I think we have time to finish.” Ian smirked.

 

Mickey smiled back at him, and untangled their limbs so that he could lie on his back – his knees had taken enough for today, thank you very much. He brought his husband down for a deep kiss, grinding their pelvises together, until he felt Ian's cock harden again against his ass. The redhead didn't loose any time in pushing into the brunet again, finding their rhythm back quickly enough. And in a couple of minutes, Mickey was panting, his body tight with excitement, and his dick trapped between their chests, already leaking.

 

“Fuck.” he grunted. “Harder.”

 

He accompanied his demand with his fingers sinking in the skin of Ian's ass, trying to get him closer, and earning himself a hard jab against his prostate from the redhead. They both moaned, pressing their lips together again. Mickey reached down for his own cock and wrapped his hand around it. He tried to match Ian's movements the best he could, feeling his climax building inside of him.

 

“Gonna...” he breathed, and he came before he could even finish his sentence, filling his hand and splashing on both their stomachs.

 

Ian barely had time for half a thrust before he was coming too, leaning his forehead against Mickey's, coating the inside of his tightening ass.

 

“Fuck.” the redhead whispered in a quiet sigh, his mouth open and hot on Mickey's skin.

 

“Yep.” the brunet replied as his husband pulled out and rolled onto his side.

 

Ian ran a hand up and down his arm.

 

“I think we should get dressed before the cleaning lady comes back.”

 

********

 

“I want to go to the Great Mosque” Ian said as he put his shirt on.

 

Mickey turned to his husband with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

 

“Are you turning terrorist on me?”

 

“Fuck off.” Ian replied with a smile, slapping the other man slightly with his sweater. “First of all, Islam doesn't equal terrorism. Second, I read they have this very hype tea room in an annex of the mosque, serving amazing mint tea and Turkish delights.”

 

Mickey's eyebrows shot even higher.

 

“You want to take me to a hipster place to drink tea?” he asked, the concern in his voice very serious. “I liked you better when you were a terrorist...”

 

“Come on!” Ian laughed. “I'm sure it's gonna be fun. And have you ever tasted Turkish delights? It looks very good.”

 

Mickey complained a little more, but ultimately agreed to go. The tea room – called _Aux Portes de l'Orient_ – was situated on one side of the mosque, opposite the main entrance. There was a restaurant inside with colorful tapestries and several beautiful carpets, but the tea was mainly served in the patio. Ian and Mickey chose their sweets at the counter – Turkish delight flavored with rosewater for Ian, and a Gazelle horn for Mickey – and went to sit around a little bronze table in the patio. They were surrounded by men smoking the hookah, and women with their heads covered, but also by young people – _fucking hipsters_ – in their late 20s, early 30s, laughing, talking, or just reading a book in their corner, and even by a couple of families with kids running around, not to forget the pigeons and the tiny robins stealing the leftover crusts directly from the plates of the costumers. The waiter came by only a couple of minutes after Ian and Mickey had sat down, and gave them each a glass of hot mint tea – there was no choice of drink here, it was mint tea or nothing. Of course, even the glasses were absolutely gorgeous, matching the decoration of the place, and as much as Mickey wanted to hate the hot drink, he actually had to admit it was quite delicious.

 

“Okay, you were right.” he confessed to his husband after taking the first bite of his Gazelle horn. “This is fucking delicious.”

 

Ian smiled proudly, and they both took a bite of the other's sweet, noticing they were both as good.

 

“I do love this place.” Mickey said in a whisper, trying to shoo away the robin eyeing his plate.

 

“Should we buy more _pâtisserie_ to eat at the hotel tonight before we leave?” Ian asked with a smirk.

 

“Fuck yes.” Mickey replied, finishing his tea eagerly. “We should try the smoking thingy too.”

 

“I don't think it's weed though.” Ian answered, looking over his shoulder at the people smoking the hookah. “I think it's just tobacco.”

 

“Too bad.” Mickey shook his head. “It's been a while since I've smoked one of those.”

 

********

 

The plane had been up in the sky for an hour when Ian leaned over his husband's seat. He kissed Mickey's temple, and ran a hand on the inside of his thigh.

 

“We just slept and watched movies on our way in.” he stated, his mouth hot against Mickey's ear. “What about this time we join the mile high club?”

 

Mickey looked around. Some passengers were already sleeping, others were listening to music, reading or watching movies. They were only an hour in, they had already been given their first drinks, and the meal wouldn't be served until at least two hours. He looked back at his husband, who was waiting for an answer with hooded eyes, and he stood up.

 

“Join me in the bathroom in five.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the “popcorn controversy”, I grew up with sweet popcorn, and let me tell you: it's fucking delicious, and salty popcorn is just weird; I was so badly surprised when I discovered salty popcorn in the US, I don't even know how people can eat this.
> 
> As for the Great Mosque of Paris, I LOVE this place. It's beautiful, and the tea and sweets are so good... I'm going there every time I'm in Paris, I just have to. I totally recommend this place. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO, I have, for now, five more installments planned for this series (I know right?). First, there's gonna be “A very Gallagher perspective”, then “Columbia” (both based on ideas I had recently), and I don't have titles yet for the three others but all three are prompts or ideas you gave me. So, yay! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or comments. And you can also send me prompts here, or on my [tumblr](http://ilostmylifeonline.tumblr.com/), and I'll write them... sooner or later. ;)


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